
CQEXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



PLYMOUTH: 

To PROVINCETOWN 

Sister, 

I greet you across the water with three 
centuries of whispered memories. 

We have both mothered the high hopes of 
struggling humanity and with simplicity and dignity 
borne the burden of our faith. 

Shall we hold fast the great traditions of 
our youth, and continue to teach the world the 
legends of the Pilgrim Sea, the lore of the Pilgrim 
Land, the lure of the Pilgrim Truth, until we see 
realized the sweet, simple Pilgrim Dreams of family, 
friendship, brotherhood, and religion? 



THE PILGRIM LAND 

FROM PLYMOUTH TO PROVINCETOWN 

In Pastel 



BY 

JOSHUA FREEMAN CROWELL 



Copyright 

CAPE COD PUBLISHING CO., INC. 

Hyannis 






^ 



S\ 



IP 



©CLA604301 



NOV 22 1920 



~"V\* | 



THE SOUTH SHORE 
MATTAKESE 

Born of the sea, and the spume of its wash; bred 
to the wind, and the wild bird's cry; its secret is 
murmur of wave to pine; its song is the song of the 
warm blue sky! 

When the glaciers went over, and the clay with the 
rocks went under; storms leaped the ridges, and cut 
the contours; and life began with the heaped up sand! 
Between the bay and the ocean, burning winds, for 
ages, have signed the sun's signature upon marsh and 
bog, scrubland and forest! 

The shore birds nest the grasses, 

Peewits and sandpipers 

Flit the salt edges; 

Bittern and shelldrake 

Follow the creeks 

To the ponds and plashes! 

A land of homing; the homing of sea winds and wild 



wings 



The homing of color and music, of bird song and 

sunshine and sunsets! 
The homing of star faith, of moon myths and legends; 
The homing of happiness; human illusions and 

memories! 
A voice sings to the morning its far off paean of 

conquest, 
And chants to the evening its solemn cadence of rest! 



After the sun glare on water, 

After hours of wave glints 

And foam tints; after the yearn 

Of the tiller, the pull and tug 

Of the sheet; the easy dip 

And slip of the boat, the cared for 

Slide and watched over stride, 

Lunging, plunging the plumes 

Of spray; after the lineup 

Of landmarks, the handling 

Of halliards, the nutter 

Of sail and anchorage, 

Comes supper and sleep! 

No prayers are needed! 

With stone from the quarries, with oil from the spout- 
ers, the sand is subdued, and rubber rolled traffic 
brings the city to the threshold, to the open door of 
the eager sea. 

The sand is subdued, 
but the winds still curse and rage in defiance: 

"I was here before the cities were dreamed! 

I whistled before man stuttered and stumbled! 

I shall remain when the cities have crumbled! 

I shall sing when man has ceased to wonder! 

I am wind! The teasing torment of sea! 

In the quell is my hell! I shall free 

Every spell from the dull sad lull of the sea! 

I am wind! World maker! Continent shaker! 

When I have moulded these sand dunes, I will make 

Men, sailors, and heroes, again!" 



The creamy foam dabbled the scallop-shelled beach, 
Where the Indian strode, Mattakese or Yanno! 
The Pilgrim from Plymouth found quahaugs and 

mussels, 
When the tide and the wind obeyed the spring moon. 
It was Yelverton Crow walked hour glass in hand 
From creek to creek for the bound to his land. 
Irregularity of peninsula and bay 
Gave his hour glass holding nine miles of shore. 
The red race is gone, and white children play 
In the fields where the stone-wrought arrow heads lie, 
And wade the soft sand shores, creamy with foam. 
Children of Yelverton for ten generations 
Have waded this foam-dabbled scallop-shelled beach. 

Only to play 

In the soft silvery sand, 
With the glittering waves, 
And the seaweed drift. 
Only to know 

The great dome of the sky, 
And lie in the glow of the sun; 

Hearing sea voices! 

"I am the singer that trumpets the storm, 

Echoes the peace of melodious night, 

Rejoices with dawn! 

I count the changes in the time set stars! 

I am old as war, and as wise as peace! 

I give to the mothers and steal from the youth! 

I feed the grey wolf! 

I have given to life, 

To the tumult and push of human life 

The throb and pulse of my own!" 



Have you seen 

a sunset spread gold over crimson 

marshes? 

the shore smoked in violet with misty 

twilight ? 

a fringe of stars on a midnight ripple? 
Have you heard 

the fishermen counting their catch? 

the flap of the sail or the creak of the 

cordage? 

the eloquent silence that precedes the 

storm, like the silence, that in the 

midst of the most violent human com- 
motion, touches the soul? 
Have you dreamed 

the dreams a sailor dreams; 

of flowering lands, 

of faces smiling in firelit rooms, 

of soft white hands? 
Have you sung 

the songs the seamen sing; 

of ports to win, 

of weather, and world-wide wisdom? 
Have you felt 

the stinging blast and the cutting 



spray 



the cruel grasp of the wave, 

that tidal twist that sucks you down? 
Have you known 

against battling seas and baffling winds, 

against the bitter buffets of time and 

self, 

the long, long aching pull of the heart 

for home? 
Have you filled 

your youth with the rhythm of hope? 

your life with the music that quiets the 

sea and holds the stars? 



Cool creeks cut curves 
On flat salt meadows! 
Pale dunes pile silver! 
Feathered pines spread green 
Over shadowy carpets of brown! 
Mosses shimmer, and masses 
Of shining grasses quiver 
In sun sheen ecstasy! 
This legendary land 
Sings with ancient longing 
For the lingering touch 
Of the shuddering sea! 

Furdurstrandus to the Norseman! 
Cape Cod to Gosnold! 

Mattakese to the Indians! 
South Sea when forty vessels 
Made home port in Lewis Bay. 
West Yarmouth on the map! 
Of the Indian day, 
On the beam over the door 
In my grandfather's house 
Was the skull of a chieftain, 
Plowed from the meadow! 
I have many arrowheads, 
Hatchets, bowls, pestles, 
Sinkers and warclubs, 
Picked from the land, 
That my ancestor, 
Ten generations ago, 
Bought of the red man, 
For an ox chain, 
A copper kettle, 
A pewter porringer, 
And a few trinkets. 

Furdurstrandus! Cape Cod! Mattakese! 
The same land says now to the descendants of Yelver- 
ton: "Come back to your foothold; I have always 
repaid man's trust with content!" 

Where once cattle and sheep grazed and golden 
maize grew, where once the deer roamed and the 
sailor sought his home, there are motors, and more 
motors and ragtime festivities; 



Yet the smile of the sun, 
And the breath of the sea, 
Remain! 

Only to live 

On the soft silvery sand, 
With the dreamy waves 

Whispering sea music! 
Only to find 

In the glow of the sun, 
In the dome of the sky, 

The meaning of life! 

In years that are gone, vast flocks of wild pigeon 
shadowed the brown fields, shelldrake and brant 
blackened the shore stretches! 

Within the same vision the Katahdin patrolled the 
coast in the war with Spain, and of late, hydroplanes 
from Chatham and an occasional dirigible! 

Since the canal, the wide sweep of sea pictures no 
greater hulls, only the power boats, the flounderers 
and scallopers! 

The meadow larks continue to tunnel the mosses; 
bevy of quail hide in the grasses, a casual shore bird 
winds the sky spaces! 

The oxen are gone, the horses are gone, the gleaming 
light pleasure boats, the distant white fleet: 

All the beautiful slow locomotion is gone, sup- 
planted by the ugly snort and pound of the frenzied 
motor. 

Gas coerces the land, gas cajoles the water, gas 
conquers the air! 

For the whinny of horses, we have shrieks of horns; 
for the cries of birds, the hateful percussion of motor 
and metal, explosion, exhaust! 

Yet the sound of the sea, 
And the charm of the sky, 
Remain! 



Only to know 

The full lure of the land 
And its legends of lore 

From fresh sea voices! 

We, the pioneers, fathers and brothers, 

Sailors and lovers, farmers, saltmakers, 

Fishermen, hunters: 

We, the pioneers — 

Of three hundred years, 

Of ten or more generations — 

Welcome new comers! 

We planted the three-square, 

The sand binding grass root! 

We netted the sand dunes 

To keep back the wave wash! 

This was your welcome! 

We, the pioneers, sheep grazers, cattle raisers, 

Wood cutters, maize growers; 

Leveled the forest for farmstead and home lot; 

Brought up the sea grass, 

And filled in the swamp holes, 

Wrought pine land and moss barren 

Into meadow and clover patch! 

This was your welcome! 

We, the pioneers, fishermen, sailors, 

Trolled for the cod and speared the flatfish; 

Seined herring and bluefish; 

Planted the oysters; 

Gathered the scallops; 

Found the first sweet water pearls 

In the mud-bedded quahaugs! 

This was your welcome! 

We, the pioneers, farmers and foresters, 

Turned the swamps into gardens, 

That harvested cranberries! 

Then we, pioneers, fathers and brothers, 

Sailors and lovers, farmers, saltmakers; 

Fishermen always; 

We, the pioneers, made our thanksgiving! 

This was your welcome! 



Out of a simple life 

Came a sturdy race! 

Out of daily prudence 

The dignity of labor! 

Out of clean living 

Came clear thinking; 

Out of a single faith, 

Order, enlightenment, 

A broader understanding! 

Are you born, Democracy? 

Not yet! 

We, later ones, listen listlessly 

To historic voices! 

Our forefathers! Patterners of simple life! 

Unswerving minds, 

Unselfish hearts, 

Unshackled hands, 

Working patterns of life 

To lines of beauty! 
Simple and strong was their curve of life 
To the outline of duty! 
Simple and strong 
Were the homes they built, 
Their firesides and friendships! 
Simple and strong, 
In their homelife and teaching, 
Church and town meeting! 
Their well furnished minds 
Fashioned forms to guide 
Affection and pleasure 
To lines of duty! 
Simple and strong was the work of their hands! 
Simple and strong 
The lines of their chairs, 
Their mantles and tables, 
Their doorways, and gables; . 
Simple and strong 
In the lines of beauty, 
The pure light of their minds 
Carved on their faces! 
Homelife, affection, community, church; 
Ideals that were won 
With long days of toil, 
Carved out of years 
Burdened with care, 
10 



The lines of their lives 

Come down to us, 

Cameos of imperishable beauty! 

Have we bettered the patterns? 
Not until, 

To our enlarging outlook, 
We take from their past, 
Simplicity, dignity, proportion, 
To fill our outlines of beauty! 

In this field, now red with close clustered, tiny wild 
strawberries, the soil beneath is full of shell heaps, 
arrowheads, and other Indian memories! 

Here were the salt works, 

Cities of salt houses, 

Raising on stilts 

The woolly fibered wood vats 

With quaint pivoted roofs, 

Gaping to sunshine 

Blue pools of ocean, 

That slowly, in beauty, 

Whitened to crystal! 

Cradles of diamonds! 

To acres of crystals, 

Opal and sparkling, 

Amber and flamestone! 

Acres of salt, 

Purgative, astringent, 

Drawn from the sea wealth, 

For the health of the nation! 

Savour of life, 

Symbol of wisdom! 

Gone are the salt works, 
Cities of roofed vats, 
And tide-water windmills! 
Gone are the workers, 
Hurrying to cover 
The cradles of crystals 
From the sudden shower! 
Gone are the landmarks 
Of stilt and pivot post. 
The salt preserved boards. 



11 



With soft plushed surfaces, 
Now built into barns, 
Woodsheds and houses! 
Where stood the salt works 
Are dance halls, garages! 
Gone are the poetry 
And beauty of salt-making; 
Yet the smile of the sun 
And the breath of the sea, 
Remain! 

And the children know 
Wild strawberries grow 
Larger and sweeter 
On sites of salt cities! 

After the sun glare and the wave glint, 

The ever changing foam tint, the yearn 

Of the tiller and the stern pull of the sheet; 

After the swing of the long tack, the jerk 

And slap of the short tack, the flap 

And flutter of mooring; 

I no longer belong to the land! 

I am the free wave, the wind song! 

I feel the brand of the sun! 

A sweet, strong vibration pulses through me, 

Above me and beyond me! 

I am reborn: 

A new melody in the harmonic universe! 

Only to lie 

On the soft silvery sand, 
One with the waves, 

And the doming blue; 
One with the ideals that blend 

The lines of the past 
With the dreams of the future; 

Hearing sea voices! 

What is this song? 

Do I live it or dream it? 
Song of all ages: 

Of Pilgrims and Indians, 

Of sand dunes and pine lands; 

Sung by the children, 

By the ocean, the sky, 

And the headland? 

12 



Sung through the ages, 
Yet singing within me: 
Rising forever, 
Sun born or cloud born — 
I know not! 

From you to me singing, 
Winging with night winds, 
Springing from pine tops, 
The ineffable bringing; 
Rising forever! 
I cannot deny it, 
Rising within me! 
What is this song? 

"I am The Eternal, to all men calling! 

I am The Impulse, that owns and sways! 

Mine are the sailors, fishermen, whalers; 

Long voyagers, winners of seacraft and manhood; 

Mine are the small grubbers, the seiners, crabbers, 

Quahaug rakers, clam diggers, scallopers; 

Gatherers of sea bait, periwinkles, mussles, 

Smelt catchers, mackerelers, sliverers! 

Mine are the idlers, health seekers; 

All lovers of boating and bathing; 

And the children that play with shells 

On the beach! 

Only to live 

On the soft silvery sand, 
With the dreamy waves, 

Whispering sea music! 
Only to love 

The song of the past, 
Rising in strains 

Of new, strong faith! 

"I am The Universal, to all men singing! 

I am The Rise in the human heart tide! 

Mine are the cranberry men, owners and pickers; 

Workers, weeding and leveling swamps; 

Black brothers, Senagambians, picking blueberries, 

Scooping cranberries! 

Mine are the watch tower man and the fire fighters, 

Who sometimes in April and often in summer 

Have struggled like supermen against the fire demons! 

13 



Mine are the wood choppers; 

The iron of their sinews, the ring of their axes, 

Make winter a harvest of comfort and joy! 

Mine are the life savers, light-house men; 

Heroes of light-ships and government-tenders; 

All hardy and hopeful, trustworthy, faithful! 

Mine is the storm that tests their manhood, 

Mine the faith light that glows on their faces! 

All heroes are mine; 

Fighters of cruelty, without or within: 

And greatest of all 

Those that win out 

In that noblest of battles 

Against ease and self! 

Mine the fruitful fall, 

The smoking spring sod, 

Gardentime, the summerful days, 

Wind swept autumn, 

Harvest of beachplum and bayberry, 

Winter of cities of insects 

Under rubbish asleep! 

Mine, the year! 

Mine are the dreamers: 
The young in the boats, 
The old at the fireside, 
The prophets and readers, 
Teachers and singers, 
Historians, poets! 

Mine are the dreams 
Of family, friendship, 
Brotherhood, religion; 
The legends of sea, 
The lore of the land, 
The lure of truth! 

Mine are the seekers, 
Whose eyes never shutting, 
Are longing for beauty; 
Whose ears never closing 
Are eager for music; 
Whose souls never idle 
Are groping for truth! 

14 



I am the Impulse, that owns and sways 
The rising tide in all human hearts! 
I am The Eternal Call that reaches 
Down from the Great Unknown!" 

What is this voice? 

Sung of all ages ? 

From all to me singing? 

From me to all singing? 
In the breath of the sea, in the smile of the sun, 

In the old, in the new? 

Soul, sing of your loneliness, 

That is the old song! 

Soul, sing of your sympathy, 

That is the new song! 
Young men and young women who have heard the old 
song, 

You shall live the new song! 

Lonely ones, dreamers! 

Learn from the sons of cities, 

Of peoples, of passion and ashes! 

Take from songs of storm 

And the sunset calm, 

From the tumult of wave 

And the peace of stars! 

From the voices of sand dunes 

Of pinetops and marshes, 

Of the landloved creeks and bays; 

Of the shallows and the great stirred deep! 

Listen to the song of homing, 

The homing of sea winds and wild wings, 

Of heart throbs and memories! 

Gain from the breath of the sea, 

And the smile of the sun! 

But live the song of the silence, 

The silence within you, 

The silence above you that calls 

To the silence within you! 

The silence ineffable that rises 

And rises, greater than all songs 

Of all ages! 



15 



CAPE COD IN PASTEL 

A DAY! A YEAR! A LIFE! 
(Tone, tune and tint from the palette of TIME.) 

Across the fields, 

Now loud, now faint, 

The meadowlark is melodizing 

Her silvery-sweet complaint! 

Let me be a discoverer on this grey day while beauty 
hides in the shadows! 

Perhaps, in a woodland pool, 
At dawn's pure light, 
I may find a rose-madder moment 
Lilied with white! 

Morning sabbatia! 

Pink butterflies, 
Poised at the pond's blue brink: 
The day is waiting, and I, 

For you to fly! 

A bluebird warbles to his mate, 
A pledge of old, a promise new: 
"To you! To you!" 

She answers him as true love will, 
With all of spring-time in her trill: 
"To you! To you!" 

Earth, yesterday you wore pale pink pearls of beach- 
plum blossoming! 

Only yesterday, you were looping, lacing, feathering 
your robes with plum-petal.white! 



17 



Trees! Brothers! 

You are full of the sparkling 

Dreams of life! 

When blushing arbutus babies are born to dull brown 
woods, grandmother earth awakes from her 
nap, and neighbor sky beams blue! 
This is the time to — 

What is this topsy-turvy ecstasy 
of tormented tones 

in a mad melee 

of improvising? 
Brown thresher! 

Again the world gasps: 
by your ardor, 

from its cold complacency, 
Startled into springtime warmth! 

This is the time — 

My eyes are fascinated with the froth of sparkling 
yellow crystals that cover the sand slopes. 

Are these flowers of heath, or sun-rays frosted over 
night? 

Now is the time to walk 
The fields and forest edges! 



18 



Rose faces cluster along the street, 

And smile from over the wall! 

Rose children, bringing gifts, 

Are dancing across the fields, 

Sprawling over the meadow banks, 

Climbing the fences, 

Or loitering by the shadowed stream! 

I know some are hiding behind that rock! 

Peep out, smiling rose faces! 

Let your warm, rich fragrance 

Fill the air, children of summer! 

I will walk your way, field sparrow! 

As your sweet trill rises, so my thoughts! 

You are fairy candlelabras, 
Twinkling stars of day! 
You fields of flowering indigo, 
New sprightly fancies play! 

Tell me, children, when you pass this way, 
If these are patches of yellow asters, 
Or millions of giant, golden footprints 
Upon the brown dry fields, 
Made by the August-stepping sun? 

What is summer? 
Is it 

Swallows ? 
Slim bows of blue 
ecstatically 
carving curves 
in sunset skies? 

Clusters of iridescence, 
wavering, weaving, 
leaving, arriving; 
sky messengers? 

Buff and blue balls 

of feathery beauty, 

cosily cuddling, 

chittering on my window sill? 



19 



Summer is always gone before I plan for it, but I 
know the humming bird accomplishes it every 
year! 
When I do dream, I find the fall jewels: 
Garnets set in gold; 
Cranberry bogs 
Framed with October maples! 

Must I go back to the street, the human way? 
Crude colors, keep away! 
The charm of life 
Is finding supertints 
In neutral grey! 

If I go back to the city, where life on brass must play, 
I will take with me: — 
Each robin's greeting to the dawn, 
Every song sparrow's uncounted joying, 
The catbird's ever changing plaint, 
The finch's throbbing jewelled song, 
And the laughter of little children picking daisies. 
With these memories, will I build for beauty, 
A throne of tones, where melody shall rule 
A kingdom of soft sweet sounds! 

Brass and percussion, keep away! 
The charm of life 
Is finding supertones 
Above the din and fray! 



20 



Unwillingly I step into the Crude. 

Black is the banner of the cruel crew! 

Yellow the color of the coward crowd! 

Mobs, red sores on civic peace! 

All conglomerations of humanity 

Are menacing garish daubs 

On the picture of promise! 
May we, the individual life tones, 

When sky-washed or sea-paled 

Provide the mezzotints! 

Let the crows, bluejays, hawks, 
All the swift predatory ones, 
With the cormorants and vampires of trade, 
That fatten on the health blood, 
And the sucked up virtue of the people; 
The vicious crew of the crude, 
Go down with the blackness of their hearts, 
And the yellow of their cowardice 
To the black oblivion of hate! 

Who will awaken me from this reality 

To the bright furtherance of a dream? 

I care not how many red continents, 

And strong bloody races, 

The pale wash of time 

Has obliterated, 

If to my awaking from reality, 

I find the bright, pure gleam! 

Once I thought God red; 

But when with all my soul 
I plunged into the blue, 

I found God white! 



21 



When I awakened from reality, the seasons 
Taught me a new song! 
With youth of green and violet, 
With manhood of purple and red, 
With violent colors, I've done away! 
Let me paint, as I rise 
Again to the blue, 
Memories of baby-pink 
Along the edge of old-age grey! 

Again as discoverer, I come back to the soft tones, 
To the misty beauties 
Of the wistful sea! 
Far out on the ocean 
Are silent, moving mysteries! 
Nearer are pale green lights, 
Marking through violet shadows, 
Pulsings of indigo, lemon, rose! 
After the dark depths, 
The lighter shallows 
To give life iridescence! 

Sing sea! 
Smile skies! 
Heart hope! 
Soul rise! 

We have said to you, Ocean, 

We will guide our fleets over you, 

Mighty titan, 

While the red sun blinds our eyes, 

And the grey mists bind our strength! 
We have done as we have said, because of a song 

That was in our hearts: 

A song we have not heard 

Or remembered! 



22 



Sea sing! 
Sky gleam! 
Life love! 
Soul dream! 

It is now sunset: 

All nature is waiting 

For the placid sea to crimson 

At the sun's farewell! 

Tomorrow there will be a storm, and you will see the 

black rocks overwhelmed with soft white 

spume! 
Today there is a tree calling, and a flower calling, a 

wave calling, and above all the silent voice of 

beauty calling! 
I hear you all, friends, and I stand for you! 
While I hold the purple twilight around me, 
I will remember all! 
At midnight, when I enter the long bright dream, 

there will be millions of waves melodizing the 

moonlight! 

Waves! Friends! 

You are full of the sparkling dreams 

Of life beyond life! 

Listen! 

The moonlight is singing: 

"I sprinkle my silver over you, 

Human hearts! 

I am spreading for you 

My patterns of peace!" 



23 



CAPE CAMEOS and CARTOONS 
and PASTELS 

Sketched from the Indian Lands of 

Manomet and Mashpee 

Monomoy and Nauset, 

And the Pilgrim Lands of 

Plymouth, Truro 

And Provincetown 



CAPE CAMEOS 

I 
ALONG THE DUNES 

Here the white wedge of shore 
Supports the silent sky, 
And frames the fuming sea; 
While sun with wind, 
And wind with wave, 
Distil salubrious harmonies. 



II 
THE MOMENTARY SEA 

Vast vision of indivisible blue 
Stippled with sunshine! 



Coast garland of majestic monotone, 
A plianth of gray mystery! 

A turbulent monster 

Devours the land 

And clutches at high heaven! 



Sometimes serene and glorious 
Sunset-touched with unnamed color 
Or with the soft silver patterning 
Of perfect moonlight! 



25 



Ill 

THE SINGERS 

The pines sing sturdy songs; 

Their branching candelabras 

Ring paeans to spring, 

Their resinous tapers 

Chant winter madrigals 

To health! 

At all seasons they spread 

Their broad-branched brotherhood, 

Breathing benisons of beneficence! 



IV 
CHARMED VOICES 

I have heard the oak leaves 

Lisping gentle charms, 

And the lofty pine-tops booming 

With wild alarms! 

Silver aspens tinkle, tinkle, 

Like guitars that fairies play: 

But among the reeds at sunrise 

Many Indian legends stray! 
Waters whimper and the waves 
Whisper secrets to the night, 
Where lambent wisdom echoes 
In trails of phosphorescent light! 

I have heard all nature tuning 

When the dewy rose was born, 

And the daystar hailing beauty 

From the cradle of the dawn. 

I have felt Hell's dominant 

The tempest pain prolong, 

And rested in the cadence 

Of oceans slumber song, 

And loved the wee and wistful voices, 

The little, lost and lonely voices 

That to the woods belong! 



26 



V 
AUTUMN 

Bask in the sunshine, 
Crimson marshes! 
Tossing gold shall 
Fringe your edges! 
Let the web-foot 
Seek your grasses, 
And the wood-folk 
Foot your sedges! 
Sleep in beauty 
While winter passes! 



VI 
SHORE BIRDS 

Are these weird whisperings 
echoes of a never-to-be-known 
spirit way? 

Do I hear the ancient fluting 
of a crude monotonous 
Indian lay? 

Are these eerie whimperings 
hopeless cries of night-lost souls, 
pleading for day? 



VII 
LIATRIS 

Purple pomp and panoply! 
The king of fall has come! 



27 



VIII 
MY TOWER 

My tower reads the landscape 
And the prophetic sea, 
Hears the bugle bells of storm, 
Feels the terror of its torment, 
And the after magnitude of calm. 

My tower knows summer's retreat, 
When the swallows cease to circle; 
And the soft white amplitude 
Of winter's joy. 

My tower spreads history, 
And threads geography; 
Heralds dawn and sunset, 
And sings the sagas 
Of white trailed ships 
On grey dim seas. 

My tower paints the earth 

With wider beauty, 

And colors the sea 

With everchanging charm; 

It draws me nearer 

To the stars, 

And to the infinite! 



IX 

The butterfly-weed burns orange fire 

Over the fields of brown; 

Flashes its intrepid flame 

Against the green grey moss; 

In August announcing the oncoming assault 

Of autumn's conflagration of color! 



28 



X 

AN HOUR 

Friends together; 

Humans, fruit and flowers: 

The sweetest music 

Filled that great outpour 

Of sunshine, 

The purest harmony 

Of thought, 

Illumined those dear smiling faces; 

While all around 

Were symphonies of trees 

With vistas of blue untroubled seas! 



XI 
WALKING 

Does anybody walk for pleasure? 

Can anybody walk these days? 

For seven miles we foot the fields 

The leafy lanes, the sandy stretch 

Of lonely beach. We breath the health 

Of towering pines, venture the bog. 

Fruiting crimson in the sun, 

And the dark tangle of the swamp, 

Returning to the pearly beach 

That silvers in the distance 

Like a road of promise. 

We hear of dancing, tennis, 
Boating, riding, mostly riding: 
All the world goes autoing! 
Show me the man who walks 
The woods, the beach, 
Without a rod or gun, 



29 



Walks seven miles in full content 

Of sea and sky, 

I should not ask him what he knows, 

He would not tell me what he feels, 

Yet in his smile and in his hand 

He bears a message 

That one who never owned a car 

Can understand! 



XII 
RAIN 

After weeks of grieving, 
The pleading grass, 
And agonizing trees 
Are drenched with delight! 

I cannot sleep 
In such exuberant rejoicing! 

I cannot dream 
While myriads of jewels 
Counterpoint the roof, 
Making night super-melodious! 

Earth! Earth! 
With your refreshment 
Is my soul refreshed! 

Leaves! Leaves! 
I shared your discomfort, 
Now I share your joy! 



XIII 
TWILIGHT SONG 

Sing leaves, 

To the summering breeze! 
Sing stars, 

To the shimmering seas! 



30 



XIV 
THE PREDATORY 

Squat sidlers of the shore, 
Swift spectres of the deep, 

Ocean spoilers, 
Clash claws and rage, 

Crabs, — human like! 

Cozeners of communities, 
Cajolers of civilization, 

Nation spoilers, 
Clash jaws and rave, 

Humans, — crab like! 



XV 
ADHORTATION 

Come you Capeward 
To be cured? 
Of what? 

Know, summerites, 

There are some things 

That cannot be cured! 
One is social astigmatism, 
Another, superstitious egoism. 
Likewise, there are no remedies 
For super Jazz-elation, 
Or the bacterial one-step; 
No relief from motor-intoxication 
Or auto-speeditis. 
Nothing Cape-known ' 

As cure-all 

To self-sickness! 
Deep sea drowning — might — perhaps! 



31 



XVI 
SCALLOP SHELLS 

The smooth white beach 

is inlaid 

with quaint colorings 

that mirror moods of sea and sky. 

Here are pink and grey dawns, 

blue October seas, 

lemon gold and orange gold, 

shadows of purple, 

and clouds of violet; 

red suns, maroon sunsets, 

spectrums of twilight seas; 

pearl cups, 

touched with ultramarine; 

silver moons, 

crimson margined! 

Brittle flowers, 

with fluted edges, 

treasures of the sea, 

storm tossed, 

more glorious, 

as the ruins 

of a mud life ended! 

Scallop shells, 

lie long on the white smooth beach, 

legendizing beauty! 

I cannot 

take away one shell; 

it would spoil 

this sea-created pattern of dreams! 



32 



XVII 
ATTUNE 

"Capt'n Bill, I've come to see your cranberry bog!" 

"There she lies, red as a rose, 
and full" as a tick! 

Winter and summer, I've sailed all seas 
for forty years, 

but for red and green and promise of fruit, 
she beats all sights I've ever seen. 
From the tropics up, I know them all; 
pineapple fields, orange and lemon, 
gold of Valencia and Philippines, 
vineyards of France and the Rhone, 
cherries of China, and lychee and plums; 
quinces in Greece; 

and apples and pears, all over the world, 
and fruit I don't know 
covering the hills with crimson globes, 
and spreading the valleys with color and odor; 
but I've never seen a prettier sight 
than this old bog of mine 
in cranberry-picking time. 
There's nothing to me in foreign lands 
like the stuff that grows in Cape Cod sands; 
there's nothing in sailing of foreign seas 
equal to getting down on my knees 
and pulling the pizen ivy out; 
I guess I knew what I was about 
when I put by my chart and glass, 
and took to growing cranberry sass!" 



33 



XVIII 
THE WRECK 

Regiments of stony waves 
Pound upon its breast; 

Battalions of brutal winds — 
No hope or rest! 

Unshackled, the monster 
Crouches, backs away, 

Writhes in wrathful rhythm 
And leaps upon its prey! 

Shattering the land lines, 

Venoming the sky; 
Broken on the white rifts 

Its noble ribs lie. 

Like man, who soul-tossed, 

In an alien clime, 
Finds himself a wraith, lost 

On the shores of time! 



XIX 
AS A TALE THAT WAS TOLD 

Out of the East 
Comes the war cry, 
Raising the wave 
To the murky sun! 

Out of the West, 
To still the murmur, 
Shod with faith, 
The millions come! 



34 



XX 

AFTERWARD 

Dawn comes out of the east 
Riding a tumult of clouds; 

Wild billowing beauty 
Of the departing storm! 

Day answers the challenge, 
And clears the horizon; 

Then the great liberator, 
The sun advances! 

He smites the roisterous waves 

With his rod of light, 
And topples the towering wind 

To a soft bed of rushes! 

The earth has an eerie song 
New learned from the sea; 

Shines the bright smile of peace 
From every tree and flower! 



XXI 

NIGHT SONG 

Let me live 

in the silver light 

of the moon! 

Let me sing 

to the shimmering 

of the wave! 

Let me love 
when the stars 
light the sea! 



35 



OLD CAPTAINS 



Among the mystical murmur of waves, 
Childish whisperings of the adult sea, 
Baby babblings of the titan deep; 
The hoary hero quietly rocked 
In his bare and battered dory! 
Fishing? No! 

Living? Truly! 

For his eyes mirror nothing of the puny present, 
But all the world wide wonders of the past! 



Face, a chart of all seas! 

Smile, a friendly trade wind! 

Eyes, two twinkling binnacle lights! 

Right hand, captain; left hand, mate! 

Weather-beaten old hulk, 

Curiously time-carved, 

But a capable craft! 



Simple, childlike heartshine 

plays across this mahogany face; 
Tired eyes of misty blue 

fire with tidal dreams; 
This stooping, rusted frame, 

a ship of many cargoes, 
Age anchors in the harbor home 

of long ago. 



The beach bushes salute him, 

As he climbs to the bluff; 

They recognize, in this tottering frame, 

The hero of heavy seas: 

For they have heard tales of the typhoon, 

Heresay of the tradewinds, 

And echoes from Cape Horn! 



36 



THE TRYST 

A Symphony 

This is the place of glowing memories, 
Greater than the sweep and splendor of the sea; 
Cheering, revivifying, as they return to me, 
Framed in soft skies of bluest harmonies. 
Beyond the farther — deep, uncharted ways 
Sunset reanimates the mystery line, 
Till every ideal, absolute, pure and divine, 
Pictures its promise before my eager gaze. 

Childish fancies, sweet vestures of desire, 
Ineffable beauties, that only youth can dream; 
Sympathies that nobleness and gentleness inspire; 
All golden visions of one love that shines supreme: 
Upon this shore my soul may stand in its high place, 
And meet its noble kindred face to face. 



ANDANTE 

I do not think that skies and seas can care, 
Or that the sun wields widsom in its flare; 
Or that the mystic moon, above the trees, 
Lights placid peace, merely my sense to please: 
Yet may I mirror, in some crude 
Own way, each nobler attitude; 
That the visible, within my reach, 
Of time's ineffable may teach, 
Till casting off my selfish misery, 
I shall accept the token of the sea, 
And on slow wings of struggle rise 
Toward the poise of perfect skies. 



37 



PASTELS 

I 

AFTER THE STORM 

As the pale mists follow the lagging clouds 
Through the silent pathways of dawn, 
The sea-wraith arises in pearl grey shrouds, 
To the blue, from the violet-green. 

The storm god towers over shuddering sands, 
Purple with rage and power; 
Brown herbs of the field wait the sun's commands 
For the hour of rose and gold! 



II 
THE PINES 

Billows of green, 
Deep glossy green! 
Green crests glowing 
Above the black shadows! 
Never a note of doubt 
Or grieving! 

Always the green giving 
Of health and cheer, 
And the strong faith 
Of green growing! 



Ill 
FOG CHILD 

Grey, wild waves, out of you I sprung; 
Of creaming foam and sealift born. 
When my restless voyaging is done, 
Tired of the torrent temper of the sun, 
I'll rest in your violet lulling breast! 
My life tide flows back to you 
Bountiful mother of waters! 

38 



IV 
A MEMORY 

The sun set red as blood! 
Transmuted was the sky, 
The sea, the shore to gold! 
A radiant, uplifting glow- 
Surrounding, penetrating life! 
It seemed that wave and cloud, 
Land, weed and man, 
And all the works of time, 
Had never known a touch of grey, 
But ever the glory and command of gold! 
Each breath was made a gleaming gift, 
Each thought a luminous path! 
Of all the golden dreams, unrealized, 
This was the ultimate! 
Youth's aureole! 



V 
NOCTURNE IN SILVER 

Moonlight fingers the water, little waves slip 
Through long silver meshes and slide away, 
Between the dark green shadows rise and dip, 
Then in the deep oblivion lose their way! 

Over the wave crests, 
Dancing to the music breeze, 

Voices of lovely unforgotten dreams 
Are naming beauties 
More wonderful than these, 

That summer's moonlight-silver streams! 

Visions, insistently calling, lead the way 
Through all the treacherous depths of night, 
Across the crests where moonbeams play 
To the fair far dawn of light! 



39 



VI 

A SKETCH 

The soft long lines of the sea-girt Cape 

Are beauty's escape from the pale wash 

Of the unknown. They bind content, and bid 

The roisterous element of the tidal push 

At the beach, repent. The pearl white sands, 

The purple marsh, the field of a thousand tints, 

Yield no tones that are crude or harsh 

But wield enchantment; while the creeks and bays 

Mirror a blue, that only the fairest skies 

HoLd true. For winter sketches, summer studies, 

The green-grey moss, the dark brown heath, 

Bright tints above, dull shades beneath, 

The woods and fields are color wooed 

To the mood of each season's fairest fancy. 

The music the winds and waves are singing 

Is bringing the senses the shimmer of joy. 

As the glory of color glows in man, 

In fuller measure the spirit grows! 



VII 
CRIMSON, GOLD FRAMED 

Now summer's work is done, 
The marshes hold carnival 
Beneath the October's sun. 

With crimson sedges carpeted, 
While mauve marshmary pledges 
Honey to the latest bee; 
Within the proud topped 

Edges of golden-rod, 

Torch bearers 

To the sun god; 

The marshes hold carnival! 



40 



VIII 
SCHERZO 

There are so many greens, 

That green 

Is never half the word may mean. 

There is a tone upon the sea 

That never 

Rested on a tree. 

Spruces hold a bluish sheen 

And maples 

Golden suntints glean. 

In the field, the herbs 

And grasses 

Foil effects of forest masses. 

There are always 

Shades between 

Black and yellow, blue and green, 

In winter sunsets, 

Cool, serene. 

Children of the rainbow dance 

Wherever peacocks poise and prance. 

Every tint 

From pea to sage 

Through the summer gardens rage. 

Where the meadow clovers grow 

Tourmalines and emeralds glow. 

Every fire the diamond knows 

In the leaf-born dewdrop glows 

And the autumn's frosty twilight, 

Paints a golden-green delight, 

That no tender buds can bring 

To the childhood tints 

Of spring. 

Oh, for time to know and dream 

Half of nature's color scheme! 

Till I the last of beauty glean 

I'll praise 

The gamut of the green! 



41 



IX 
A CHILD 

The wild sea birds piped in his voice, 
As he danced with wind and foam. 
His shining eyes were seas and skies. 
Brighter his hands than gleaming sands. 
Two joys complete, his chubby feet, 
As they print patterns, smooth and neat 
Such as tiny wavelets teach, 
Before they reach the sandy beach. 
With all the children of the sun, 
Like freedom, love and joy in one; 
He pranked and pranced and danced, 
Laughed, and bubbled with the waves; 
Till all the sweetness of the air and sun, 
And dimpled sea, his smile had won! 



X 



Once more the generous autumn 
Has painted earth with joy; 
And color's eager ecstasies 
The woods and fields employ! 

Beyond the gleaming meadow, 
Crimson flames arise; 
A pageantry of fantasies 
Against untroubled skies! 

From every lurking shadow, 
Light has broken through; 
As if the smile of beauty 
All evil could undo! 



42 



XI 
WHITE AND BLUE 

Smooth white beach, 

unpictured and serene! 
On you the purple passions 

of tide and wind 
Make murky wounds, 

that tomorrow's sun 
Will heal! Scroll of peace, 

where with grace 
Blue waves trace 

gentle arabesques, 
And carelessly 

blot them out again! 
Time toys with death, 

until it crushes 
This smiling fair, 

its larger beauty to renew! 

Here will I lie 

upon the white, 
Till I am white 

all through! 
And seeing, feeling, 

only the blue 
Around, above, 

steal through me; 
Time shall write 

upon my soul's pure white, 
All that is lasting, 

deep and true! 



43 



XII 

NOVEMBER 

The oak leaves burn upon the hill, 
The evening air is sharp and still; 
My love is gone, I felt it go 
With the early-fading sunset glow! 



XIII 
FROM LIFE'S LOOM 

Woven among the musical patterings of the rain 

Is a strand of silence! 

Is not all monotony and futility, 

The seeming warp of joy or pain, 

Threaded with some deeper meaning? 



XIV 

Life shall win not the yellow 

of gold, 
But all the colors of the 

spectrum. 

Under the rainbow, 

not the pot of gold, 
But a wealth of vision, 

never bought or sold! 
Earth jewels remind us, 

but they bind us: 
Let us lift our eyes, 

to the storm-swept skies; 
Where in glorious color told, 
All the fairer, fuller 

promises unfold! 



44 



XV 
TO BE 

Blue-bright 

with the summer sea, 
In light of clear pure dawn; 
Blue-bloom 

to the summer sea, 
At pallid break of dawn; 
Blue-deep 

as the untouched sky, 
When I lie on the shore 
Searching the high, farthermost vision! 

I was 
Azure-born 

of the lillied lake, 
Cultured with the cerulean peace 
Of the cool-lined creek at twilight! 

To be 

Blue-dark 

as the ultramarine night, 
Girt with a golden frame of stars; 
Blue-true 

as the ever faithful light 
In the eyes of love that smile 
Soft sapphires of delight; 
All-blue 

with the luminous sheen of life 
That is hearted with the opal glow 

of dreams! 

To be 

All-blue, with the deep blue bloom 
of dreams! 



45 



THE PILGRIM LAND 

Contents 
Foreword 
FROM PLYMOUTH TO PROVINCETOWN 



THE SOUTH SHORE 


Page 


Mattakese 


3 


CAPE COD IN PASTEL 




A Day! A Year! A Life! 


17 


CAPE CAMEOS AND CARTOONS 


25 


OLD CAPTAINS 


36 


THE TRYST 


37 


PASTELS 


38 


Sketched from the Indian Lands of 




Manomet and Mashpee, 




Monomoy and Nauset, 




And the Pilgrim Lands of 




Plymouth to Truro and 




Provincetown 





46 



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